


The Three 'S's: Satan, Sex, and Snack-food; or, How Raietta Gets Her Gears Grinding

by terma_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-01
Updated: 2002-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atTER/MAand was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address onthe TER/MA collection profile.
Relationships: Alex Krycek/Fox Mulder
Collections: TER/MA





	The Three 'S's: Satan, Sex, and Snack-food; or, How Raietta Gets Her Gears Grinding

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).

  
**The Three 'S's  
by Raietta**

  
PROLOGUE 

Frustration! Frustration! Nothing but frustration! 

Raietta sat before the glowing computer monitor, shoulders slumped, her posture negligent and unbecoming, and glowered. After a moment of extremely charged silence, her fingers rose to the keyboard and began to type. Tippity, tippity, tippity, tap, tap, tippity tap— 

Then one finger pressed vehemently down on the backspace bar and deleted three pages' worth of fanfiction. 

Nothing! Nothing at all! It was all trash! Trash! The worst sort of garbage! 

Raietta howled her frustration to the ceiling. "Why can't I write this damn story!!??!!" she wailed, and fell to the floor and writhed around for a while in misery. 

Finally, she sat up and said aloud to the wall in very dramatic tones, "Desperate times call for desperate measures." 

Before the eerie glow of the monitor, she raised her hands and closed her eyes. Tracing airy gestures with her hands, she intoned, "By the bond that connects us, by your word and mine, O great Prince, dark Lucifer, heed my call! I summon thee!" She traced more fluid gestures in the air. Purple smoke wafted into the room, billowed about the furniture. A pentagram etched itself in lines of red in the air. "I summon thee! Heed my call! Come to me, Prince of Lies!" 

A sharp bang then issued forth, and there appeared Satan, lounging on Raietta's bed and reading an issue of "Cosmopolitan". It was the European edition. He seemed very absorbed in it. 

"Yes, dear?" he greeted, not looking up from his magazine. "Something you want?" 

"I can't write this damn fanfic," Raietta complained, gesturing at her computer. "It simply refuses to go where I want. Mulder keeps on acting like a prize idiot, and Krycek is simply impossible. He won't say anything I want without sounding out of character. I need your help with it." 

The Devil, upon hearing the word "fanfic", closed his eyes as if in great pain and flopped backwards on Raietta's bed, arms flung out, the image of wild despair. The Cosmo mag fluttered to the floor. "Fanfic?!" he cried. "Fanfic?! I'm sick and tired of your damned fanfiction! That's all you ever summon me for! Mulder this, and Krycek that! If I have to provide inspiration for one more slash story, I'll... I'll..." 

"What's wrong with slash?!" Raietta squawked indignantly, bristling. Her eyes took on a dangerous cast. 

"Nothing!" Satan was quick to reassure, changing tactics. "It's just, that's all I ever do for you. Wouldn't you rather me give you immortality, or world domination, or a million dollars, or something a bit more... life-altering?" 

"Nope," said Raietta. "Just inspire me, please." 

"Oh, all right..." Satan groused, moseying over to the computer. "You know, you really ought to get yourself a muse, if all you need from me is inspiration." 

"I can't afford a muse," Raietta replied, slouching by Satan's side, twiddling with the modem cord. "They require lots of money and caviar. You just want my measly old soul." 

"I really need to start considering other currency," Lucifer mused, mostly to himself. 

"Now, c'mon, Mephisto," the pushy writer commanded, "get on with the fabulous fic writing, here." 

"Well, how about this for a storyline? Mulder gets a tip about a secret government operation taking place in Guam, and, for a real plot twist, takes Scully with him to investigate, instead of ditching her, as usual. There, they—" 

"No, no, no!!!" Raietta cried, scandalized. She staggered around the room, arms flailing from the enormity of emotions that Satan's words had brought about. The Devil scrunched back against the wall to get out of her way. "I don't want a _plot_ , I want _sex_! I want Mulder and Krycek to do the nasty, and do it titilatingly. No Scully. I want bombs to go off when those two get their hands on one another." She added, "And no angst. This must be a happy fic. And Krycek's got both arms." 

"Ah," the Fallen One said, as if receiving an epiphany. "A happy fic. No wonder you're having trouble. Have you ever actually done a happy story before?" 

Raietta eyed him balefully. "Just get on with it, Azazel." 

"Must the story be just about sex?" Satan implored, giving her a puppy dog look. "If I must help you with a story, why not a Pulitzer Prize-winning Great American Novel? I could—" 

"No! No deep thoughts! No angst! No character development! No tropes! No literary merit!" Raietta shouted, her eyes beginning to bug out a little. "Just sex! Sex! Sex! Sex! All I want from you is sex! So put out, horned one!" 

"I won't even attempt to address all the double entendres glaring from that little diatribe of yours," Satan sniffed. 

""We have a deal, Beelzebub," the cranky writer reminded him, scowling. "Come through." 

"You know," Lucifer began, tactfully, "Beelzebub and Satan and Azazel and the Devil and all those other names aren't actually the same evil entity." 

"Whatever, Mephistopheles," Raietta said, rolling her eyes. "Just get on with the story." 

The Devil eyed her distastefully. "I can't believe I ever struck a bargain with you." 

"Satan..." Raietta began warningly. She picked up a mechanical pencil to show that she meant business. "Don't make me stab you with this." 

"Fine!" Lucifer huffed, annoyed and sulky. He plopped himself crankily before the computer and glared at the humming screen. "Sex you want, sex you get." 

"Fine!" Raietta snapped back, and waited as Satan began to type. 

* * *

CHAPTER ONE 

Breaking into Mulder's apartment was ridiculously easy, as usual. The lock picks slid home without hesitation, there was a tiny click, and the door swung open, invitingly. Krycek pocketed the picks and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. He had exactly thirty-four minutes to locate a file on Mulder's hard drive, delete it, and destroy whatever copies he might have made of the file. Plenty of time. 

Krycek smiled, his teeth gleaming whitely in the darkness. Creeping along the walls, he entered the living room, crouched before the window, perused the scene, put away his gun, and sat before the computer and got to work. 

Imagine his shock when the front door flew open ten minutes into his file search, and a tall, hazel-eyed FBI agent stumbled into the apartment. Krycek swore creatively, threw himself from the chair, whipped out his gun, and aimed at the man staggering into the room, all in under an instant. 

He trained the weapon on the man's brilliantly ugly tie as Agent Mulder wove unsteadily across the floor and made toward his battered old leather couch. Krycek froze, waiting for Mulder to realize that there was an intruder in his apartment with a gun aimed at him and act in his customary belligerent fashion, which always included asinine remarks and fisticuffs. 

Mulder shocked the triple-agent once again by flopping himself down on the couch and sagging into the cushions, suddenly boneless. He abruptly giggled, mumbled something unintelligible, and then just sat, lolling his head a little from time to time. Krycek waited for a moment, a bit bewildered, then finally spoke. 

"Hello, Mulder," he rasped. Mulder's head flew up, and after a moment he finally located Krycek, who was still crouching by the coffee table. Krycek smiled a crocodile grin at him and watched the agent's eyes widen with surprise. He didn't lower his gun. 

"Krycek!" Fox cried, his voice slurring, and Krycek tensed up even more than before as Mulder shot to his feet and stepped toward him. 

"Freeze, G-man," Krycek ordered, his voice cold and hard, but Mulder strode right up to him, tottering madly, and seized him by his collar. Before Krycek had time to knock him unconscious, Mulder jerked him up against his own lanky frame and was suddenly locking lips with him. 

Krycek almost dropped his gun in astonishment. Mulder pressed Krycek's suddenly limp body full against his own, never breaking off the kiss, hungry and wild and drunk and demanding. Krycek made a little squeaking noise in his throat, muffled by Mulder's lips on his own. 'Holy mackerel!' Krycek thought, mind reeling, as Mulder began sucking on his lower lip. 'Holy mackerel!' His brain couldn't seem to conjure up anything else. 

Mulder began running his hands over Krycek's leather-clad back, insinuated them under his T-shirt, began to climb down toward his ass. The squeaking noise in Krycek's throat grew louder. His gun dangled, forgotten, from two fingers. It was only when Mulder squeezed his ass that Krycek's brain suddenly woke up, and Krycek could think again. 

" _Stop_!" he shouted, and tore away from Mulder, gasping, bringing up his remembered Glock to aim at the agent's chest. 

"No!" Mulder cried, starting forward after Krycek, who backed away nervously. "God! I gotta have you!" 

"What the _fuck_ is going on, here?!" Krycek yelled, still aiming at Mulder, still backing away as Mulder continued to come after him. "Stop right now! Not another move, Mulder, or I shoot you! I mean it!" 

"God, you're hot!" Mulder replied, his eyes feverish in his too-rosy face. "I could just fuck you 'til dawn! I could fuck you through the floor! God, you're hot!" 

"Jesus Christ," Krycek swore, completely at a loss. He was still back-peddling, and by now they'd both gone around the coffee table twice. He was beginning to feel ridiculous. "What the _fuck_ is going on, here?!" 

"I must have you!" Mulder cried, and suddenly lunged at the bewildered assassin, tripping over the coffee table and slamming into Krycek, knocking them both onto the couch. Krycek, who couldn't bring himself to shoot Mulder, or even hit him, squeaked again as he hit the couch. 

"Jesus Christ!" he shouted, repetitively, struggling wildly to get out from under Mulder without hurting him. 

"You magnificent bastard!" Mulder cried, scrabbling at Krycek's jacket. "Look at those eyes! Emerald pools of limpid goo! And that mouth! Lips like two satin pillows! Just wanna kiss 'em raw! Ooohhh, and those _abs_! You must work out." Hot hands were now rubbing all over Krycek's torso, grasping flesh and tweaking nipples. "God, you're sexy!" 

"Mulder!" Krycek gasped, his voice strangling, as he tried to disengage the FBI agent's hands. "Mulder! Listen to me! You have to stop this, right now!" 

"You sexy little mink!" Mulder replied, his eyes crazy, and thrust his groin, which was rock-hard, against Krycek's thigh. "You sexy little slut! Just wanna fuck you 'til the building collapses!" 

"Jesus Christ!" Krycek shouted, his brain beginning to fry from the sensation of Fox Mulder humping his leg. At least he wasn't thinking 'holy mackerel' any more. 

"God, I'm horny," Mulder hissed, between kissing Krycek's mouth, his neck, his stomach. "God, just wanna fuck you 'til you die! God, I gotta—gotta—just _gotta_ get in your pants!" 

"Mulder!" Alex protested weakly, all his reason and resolve swiftly flying out the window. His senses were beginning to overload. "What happened to you? Why are you acting—" he gasped as Mulder's hot mouth latched onto his crotch, sucking at the blue-jean fabric. "—acting like this?" 

"Ooohhhh, yeah, baby, that's what I like," Mulder growled, biting at Krycek's groin. Krycek nearly shrieked. He writhed while Mulder began fumbling at his own fly, frantic to get the zipper pulled down. "Had me a little meeting with some mysterious Consortium associates, today," Mulder said. Zzzzip, went the fly. "Gave me a little parting gift, after they ripped my mind apart and stapled it back together. The drug they gave me—to get me to talk—also made me as horny as a bitch in heat." 

Krycek made a little mewling noise as Mulder began tearing at his button fly. 

"What a side effect, huh, babe?" Mulder grinned ferally at him as he undid the buttons. "Gonna fuck you 'til you scream, handsome, gonna shove my big fat dick right up into you—oh yeah—gonna fuck you hard and long—" 

Finally, Mulder's words sunk in to Krycek's lust-addled brain. Dr-drug? Drug! Holy mackerel! 

With supreme effort, Krycek placed his hands on Mulder's shoulders and shoved, hard. Mulder toppled off of the couch and hit the floor with a thump. While he sprawled loosely on the floor, one leg draped on the coffee table, a dazed look on his face, Krycek scrambled off the couch and swept up his gun, then dashed over to the doorway to the living room. 

Krycek's heart was racing, his nerves were tingling with arousal. God damn it. This just wasn't fair. He took in deep gasping lungsfuls of air, trying to regulate his heartbeat, bring it down to normal. His groin was singing. 

This just wasn't fair. 

"Ow," Mulder said, faintly, from the floor. 

"Mulder," Krycek announced, his voice a husky, determined growl, "I'm leaving now. But first, I'm gonna call Scully, because you definitely need some help." 

"Don't need help," Mulder said, "need sex. I _neeeeed_ it, Alex! I need it so bad it hurts." 

Krycek stood, mired in indecision, biting his lip with anxiety. Mulder scrambled to his knees and faced Krycek, his face pleading and open and needful. "Please, Alex, please," he whispered. "Just a little fuck. Just a little one, please? I promise it'll be good!" 

Krycek stood, frozen. Mulder continued to stare, his face achingly vulnerable and full of pain. His hard-on was extraordinary to behold. 

Krycek swore under his breath. Holy mackerel. 

What was a triple-agent to do? 

* * *

INTERLUDE 

Raietta sat on the bed, crossed-legged, and munched cookies and read a Kabuki comic book while Satan sat hunched over the keyboard. 

"How's it going, over there?" she asked. 

"Fine, fine," the Morning Star replied distractedly, typing furiously. His eyes never left the screen. 

"Milano cookie?" Raietta offered, holding out the bag. 

"Why, sure, thank you," the Devil accepted, and leaned over and took a cookie. Chewing on the outrageously high-priced baked good, he turned back to the computer and resumed his warp-speed pace. "Hey, these're right tasty," he said out loud, spewing crumbs. 

"They're more than a treat, they're a rewarding and pleasurable experience," Raietta recited, digging into the bag for more. 

"I'll say," the Dark Angel agreed, and reached out a hand. "Break out some more," he said, and Raietta was happy to comply. 

* * *

CHAPTER TWO 

Decisions, decisions. Krycek pondered them while staring at the delectable man kneeling across the room from him. Should he call Dana Scully up on Mulder's speed dial and have her come over and take care of this, or should he take advantage of this singular opportunity and fuck Mulder into exhaustion? 

The pros of walking away now... hmmm. Well, he'd have a clean conscience, for once. That must count for something. And Mulder would owe him, and hate it, once he was back to normal. That was good, too. And... and... and... well, shit. 

The pros of giving into his baser needs and letting Mulder have his way with him? His brain nearly exploded from the sudden onslaught of reasons to do the wild thang with Fox Mulder. 

Besides, he was an evil amoral/immoral two-timing double-crossing rat bastard. It was expected of him to take advantage of a chemically manipulated special agent. Why, come to think of it, it was his duty as a twisted sometimes-Consortium assassin to have sex with Mulder! Chain-smoking assholes everywhere were counting on him! Well-groomed old British fogies who might or might not be dead were counting on him! Why, how could he _not_ have sex with Fox Mulder, with all of these shady characters expecting him to do the right thing, which was, in this case, to screw Agent Mulder, both literally and figuratively? 

"Please," Mulder pleaded breathlessly, across the room. His eyes were large and liquid in the close darkness. "Please, Krycek, have sex with me." 

"Well, okay," Krycek finally acceded, and put down his gun. Mulder launched himself at the spy, slamming him into the wall. 

'Holy mackerel!' Krycek thought wildly as he and the throbbing agent slid to the floor, groping and squeezing and kissing like mad. 

"Oh, Jesus, yes!" Mulder howled, fucking Krycek through two pairs of pants. His tongue slithered over Krycek's jawline. "Yes! Yes! Fan-fucking-tastic! You are the yummiest thing I have ever seen! I could just eat you up, you delicious suckable kissable fuckable thing, you!" 

"Yow!" Krycek cried, arching his back in ecstasy. Mulder grasped one sensitive nipple between finger and thumb and pinched, hard. "Yeeow!" Krycek yelped, jerking under Mulder's hand. His jacket flew from his body, closely followed by his T-shirt. Krycek reached up and yanked Mulder's own business jacket and shirt off, tossing them in a pile somewhere on the floor. 

"Yes—yes—" Mulder growled, biting Krycek's right nipple, trailing his tongue down his pectoral and along his ribs. "Wanted you for years and years, but of course I'm so anal and paranoid that I'd never admitted it, even to myself—but this drug they gave me is so freeing!" 

"I'm glad for you," Krycek replied, then squealed as Mulder dug his tongue into his ear and tried to poke his brain out through the other end. "You're gonna burst my ear drum!" he cried. Mulder then attacked his lips, sucking and biting, then trailed down to this throat, leaving all sorts of interesting ink-blot-like red smears on his skin. 

There was a tugging on his boots, and then they were gone, followed by his socks, then his jeans. 

"You're a fucking Adonis!" Mulder cried, with abandonment, jerking at his own pants and shoes. "How do you feel about spankings?" 

"Urrgh," Krycek replied woozily, unable to process Mulder's words, by now. His mind was singing a chorus of 'holy mackerel's over and over again. 

"Lunch time!" Mulder cried, and dove right onto Krycek's cock. 

* * *

INTERLUDE 2 

"So," Satan began, "just how much sex do you want in this fic?" 

"Shhhh," Raietta ordered, from the bed, where she sat with eyes closed. "I'm having a really pleasant daydream about Stephen Dorff. You're ruining the mood." 

Satan glared at her, his eyes snapping red flares. 

"Okay," Raietta said, after a moment, and opened her eyes. "I'm done." Satan just blinked. "I want lots of sex. Sex and sex and more sex. And it has to be happy, too. No angst or pain." 

"Hmm," the Dark Angel said thoughtfully, and resumed his typing. "I'm gonna get carpal tunnel syndrome, I just know it," he muttered. 

"Quiet, you," Raietta replied indulgently, lounging on the bed and engaging in another daydream, this time about Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp, Jared Leto, and an ice cream scoop. Harrison Ford guest starred, bull whip in hand and sporting his fetching fedora. 

"Can I have another Milano?" Satan asked, glancing away from the monitor. 

"Sorry, we ate them all already," Raietta replied apologetically. 

"Oh," the Devil said forlornly, looking glum. His shoulders slumped. 

"But I have some Pringles, here," Raietta continued, bringing out a can and holding it up. It fairly gleamed with junk-foody goodness. "Want some?" 

"Sure!" Lucifer replied enthusiastically, and held out a hand. "Bring 'em over!" 

Raietta scooted over to the edge of the bed and handed him the can. Satan looked up and eyed her middle. 

"You know, you're developing quite a paunch, there, miss," Satan said, and poked her stomach. 

Raietta smacked his hand away irritably. "Just write the damn story, Satan, and quit bothering me." 

"Your wish is my command," Lucifer said mildly, and, dribbling crumbs onto the keyboard, began to type again. 

* * *

CHAPTER THREE 

Writhing against one another, arms and legs entangling like lustful lengths of twine, Mulder and Krycek made a mad dash for the bathroom, to find some lubricant. 

"I know I have some somewhere!" Mulder said anxiously, trying to screw Krycek and find suitable lube simultaneously. 

"Hand lotion?" Krycek gasped from the floor, rocking his hips against Mulder's calf. His head kept on knocking against the toilet, but he was too high with lust to feel it. 

"Can't see any," Mulder wailed, his eyes growing desperate. He rifled through his medicine cabinet, tossing toothpaste and dental floss over his shoulder. Bottles of aspirin and cans of shaving cream sailed through the air. With a triumphant cry, he spied a tub of Vaseline and seized it. 

"YES!" he howled, and Krycek clapped his hands with admiration. "God bless petroleum jelly!" 

"Let's get it on!" Krycek cried, and Mulder flew to him, popping the lid to the Vaseline and gripping his own cock with zeal. Then BOOM! Mulder was tearing into Krycek with an overly proportioned penis that practically dripped with Vaseline. 

"Like Alice down the rabbit hole!" Mulder shouted, pumping madly, scooting Krycek slowly across the bathroom floor one pump at a time. "Tighter than a miser's fist on money! Smoother than cream, sweeter than lollipops, better than a day at the beach!" 

"What the hell are you babbling about?" Krycek gasped, his mind whirling. His head connected with the bathtub, and he yelped. His insides were on fire, his ass was screaming with joy. He felt like he was being torn apart inside, but it was a _good_ kind of being torn apart inside. 

"You should be an amusement park!" Mulder cried deliriously, still banging away at him. Sweat flew off of him, his hair was damp in his eyes. Krycek's legs wrapped haphazardly around his hips. "People should pay admission to ride you! You'd make a mint!" 

"Are you telling me to be a prostitute?" Krycek asked breathlessly, as he found himself being fucked right up over the wall of the bathtub and into the cold porcelain well itself. Mulder clung to him, sucking and kissing and pinching, and toppled with him into the tub. They landed together with an _oomph!_ , Mulder not once losing his rhythm. He pistoned into Krycek, hips gyrating, and Krycek arched to meet every thrust. Sparks flew from their merging. Mulder pumped faster and faster, gaining speed, as if gearing up for a liftoff. 

Krycek could feel himself spiraling apart. "Holy mackerel!" he screamed, "Holy mackerel! Holy mackerel! Holy mackerel!" 

"You're like a long cold frosty glass of lemonade after a hard, hot summer day!" Mulder sang Krycek's praises, fucking Krycek up the tiled wall. Soon, if the frantic pace continued, they would be standing upright. "God, you're fucking perfect! That skin! Those muscles! That tight ass hole! That perfect dick! Gonna fuck you up and suck you down! Gonna go whole hog with ya, babe, gonna love you 'til there ain't nothing left to love!" 

"Holy mackerel! Holy mackerel!" Krycek bellowed in response, too far gone to voice his suspicion that the drug had affected more than Fox's libido; it had affected his mind. Not that it hadn't already been affected to begin with. 

Then someone's hand, Krycek didn't know whose, was on his cock, and jerking it wildly, and now he was blind from the sudden rush of blood to his already thrumming groin. 

"You exquisite little whore! You delicious darling delectable dish! Gonna rock your tower right from its foundation! Gonna let it all come out! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Ohhhhhhh, baaaaaabyyyyyy!!!!!" 

"HOLY MACKEREL! HOLY MACKEREL! HOLY MACKEREL!" Krycek screamed, his voice hitting an impossible pitch, and then hot slurpy semen was washing all over his stomach, Mulder's middle, the tub itself, and Mulder was shooting his own come into him, pumping and hard and hot, and the two fell together in a heap in the tub, totally exhausted. 

* * *

After a while, Krycek came to. He was still in the tub. Something was sucking at his earlobe. He was glowing. He could feel it. Damn, was he happy. His whole body was glowing. That had to be the best sex he'd ever had—his brain had practically melted from it. "I'm so happy," he sighed. Fucking Fox Mulder—or letting himself get fucked by Fox Mulder—was the best decision he'd ever made in his life. 

He turned to the man suckling at his ear. "Are _you_ happy?" 

"Damn, I'm happy," Mulder replied, nibbling delicately at Krycek's jawline. "Getting abducted by Consortium thugs, subjected to hideous methods of interrogation, getting drugged and almost losing my mind was worth it. I've never been so happy in my life." 

"Good," Krycek sighed, smiling happily. He was exhausted, but each cell in his body was singing. He was just drifting off into a sweet dream where he took over the Consortium, blew all the Elders away, and lived in a mansion with Mulder as his personal sex slave when he felt a hand massaging his limply satiated member. He cracked open an eye with shock. 

"I'm still feeling horny, Alex," Mulder murmured into his ear, grinning evilly. "Let's say we do round two." 

"Holy mackerel," was all Krycek could say, before they were off and running again. 

THE END 

* * *

EPILOGUE 

"All done," Lucifer announced, standing up and stretching out his joints. They popped merrily, and he shook out his hands. 

"You are?" Raietta exclaimed, and bounced off of the bed and trotted over to the computer, which hummed smugly at her. She sat down and began to read. 

Satan picked up his Cosmo magazine from the floor, straightened the bent pages, and ate the last of the Ho-Ho's Raietta had shared with him after the Pringles ran out. 

"I'm out of here, okay?" the Light Bringer said, and turned to look at Raietta. 

Raietta was gazing in horror at the computer screen. "What did you do to the story?" she gasped, dismay etched on her face. "What... what the hell did you write, here? What _is_ this crap?" 

Satan just finished up the Ho-Ho and shrugged, leafing through his magazine. "You wanted happy sex, I gave you happy sex. Happy sex, and no Scully, no angst, no plot. Just what you ordered." 

Raietta stared in silence at the monitor. 

"I hate you," she whispered, her eyes never leaving the screen. 

Satan closed his magazine with a snap and smiled. It was a very malicious smile. "My work here is done. I'll be seeing you, Raie." 

And with that, in a puff of lavender smoke, which smelled faintly of Calvin Klein's "Eternity", he was gone. A pentacle glowed faintly in the air for a moment, then faded away, and Raietta was alone in the room, still frozen in her chair, staring at the computer, cursing the day she'd ever made a bargain with a certain evil Biblical entity. 

THE END 

* * *

TITLE: "The Three 'S's: Satan, Sex, and Snack-food; or, How Raietta Gets Her Gears Grinding"   
AUTHOR: Raietta (co-authored with the Light Bringer)   
PAIRING: M/K lovin'!   
RATING: NC-17, I'd wager.   
DISCLAIMER THINGIE: I send him love letters, I send him fan mail, I send him money and nude photos, but does Chris Carter ever return my affections? No! _sob_! You know what they say about a woman scorned; in retaliation for my unrequited love I stole his X-Files boys. I'm sure I'll give them back once my anger has died down.   
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't know what I was smoking when I wrote this thing. My friend Jennifer suggests it was crack. I suspect I was sniffing paint fumes, unbeknownst to me; or else I was possessed. In other words: This story has absolutely no redeemable features whatsoever! It was just plain fun to write! It has no plot and no point! You've been warned...   
FEEDBACK: " _Feeeed_ me, Seymore! I'm STARVING!" Hee, hee. I like intergalactic man-eating veggies. I also like feedback, even the negative kind. Please direct all flames and praise to [email removed]   
DED'S: This fic, dubious as it is, is for Yanti, the coolest of the cool, in thanks (sorry, Yanti, next time will be better), and for Daisy, the sweetest of the sweet, from whom I borrowed the phrase "suckable, kissable, fuckable." Thanks, Daisy! Still working on that inspiration bubble you sent drifting my way.   
---


End file.
